I have been west of the Naylor Hills, although there was no road access from Keg River. By going South to Hotchkiss and west along a forestry road following the Hotchkiss River, turning north until the road disappeared and following seismic cutlines north again up the valley where the headwaters of the Chinchaga rise, you could eventually get there. Don't try this in a pickup in the summer, even with four wheel drive. Some of the swamps are bottomless. Others, even in June, have two feet of water-sodden plant material over a sheet of solid ice.
I went with a friend from KR to his trapline cabin at the head of the Chinchaga, in March, 1976. The plan, since the cutlines were frozen, was to drive all the way to his line cabin in one day, stay overnight and come back the next day, making all our time in the early morning when the ground was frozen hard.
All went well at first, south on the highway, west on good gravel, then winding through the hills on a frozen oil access road that stuck to the high ground. When we took to the cutline we still looked good, it was getting a bit soft, but manageable. Ten miles south of the cabin we ran into trouble. A steep sided creek bed with water flowing at the bottom.
We had a Ski doo in the back of the truck, figuring to need it eventually on this trip. We unloaded it and the toboggan it was to pull, horsed it across the creek and got it up the muddy slope on the other side. We had a tea break and Teddy decided he would try to get to the cabin, get his stuff, and be back to camp where we were for the night. I stayed with the truck since the machine would go better with one person on it. And I waited and dug the wilderness for a bit, drank tea and watched it getting darker, and began to wonder, just a bit. I got up from my comfy log and took a look down the cutline and thought I could see something moving. I dug out the rifle and had a look through the scope and saw Teddy, on foot, stomping toward me. It turned out the machine had quit cold on him about three miles up and he had spent some time trying to restart it with no success. He then decided to walk down to the truck before nightfall and we'd figure from there. By this time it was afternoon and the road base was too melted to move. We made a lean to with spruce branches and boughs for a mattress and stayed until morning. We drove back to Manning and borrowed another ski doo, a hot racing machine, and stayed overnight. We were back the next day, both on the skidoo and it was a wild ride. The clutch wouldn't engage until 6000 rpm so it was a matter of go fast, or stop. So we boom-assed down the trail at 40 mph until we got to the dead machine three miles up the line. The skidoo couldn't take two people and pull the corpse, so I was left to walk awhile until Teddy came back to pick me up.
In that situation even a country boy like me realizes just how alone you really are in the wilderness. That morning on the Hotchkiss road we rounded a corner and saw three wolves playing on the road. They departed at high speed as soon as they saw us, wise wolves. But as I was walking along that cutline, alone, they began to haunt me a bit. I looked around, just in case, and saw that the only trees were black spruce, eight to ten feet tall and three inches at the base, no place to go there. That was the only time in my life I wished I had the .38 that Teddy carried all the time in the bush, just in case. But all the worry was for nothing, the wolves didn't eat me and the skidoo came back. We loaded the machines on the truck, chained up and drove back to Manning, then home. That part of the adventure was over.
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